Bigger Battles
by That-One-Girl-Behind-You
Summary: A study in the relationships within the Avengers team. Mostly shippy drabbles. Many Tony/Loki, but there will most likely be other pairings too. Unless established, the drabbles are independent.
1. Try and Error

Hello, Dears!

Yes, yes, I know I should be writing In Plain Sight, but last week´s chapter is finished, I just have to type it, and this week´s is nearly done too, so relax, and waste some time in my useless fluff.

**Disclaimer: **Avengers= not mine. Sorry.

* * *

**Try and Error**

"Barton"

Clint stopped in his tracks. He hadn´t yet gotten used to Loki not being immediately catalogued as an enemy, and that voice still sent a pang of recognition to his stomach.

"Yes?" He looked back over his shoulder, to where the god leaned on a threshold. The slight smirk and the arched eyebrow sent another pang that didn´t exactly stay in his middle region. He knew exactly what he wanted.

"Yes, Boss?" That widened the smirk in the god´s face.

"Come here." He disappeared into the room.

And Clint followed.

"Good job, Barton"

Clint watched the white extension of skin that was the god´s back presented to him. He forced himself to avoid running a hand over it.

"I still don´t trust you."

"I don´t recall asking you to." Loki twisted on the bed. Clint knew he was doing it to tease him, but honestly, he couldn´t bring himself to care.

"I can´t say this surprises me."

Loki smiled in regards to Natasha´s phrase, leaning up to kiss her full lips. He allowed her to pinch his hands over his head from where she stood, straddling his lap.

"I like my women strong"

She let a hand go of his wrists, to slap him lightly. Probably nothing she could do with her naked hands could hurt him seriously, but she wasn´t really in the mood to do just that right now, anyways.

"And I like my men obedient" She whispered in his ears. "You´re in for a task."

"Gladly." Loki answered, and let himself be pushed on his back.

Loki ran a hand over the curve of Natsha´s waist. She sat up and looked down at him, all sharp angles and fiery red tones under the sunlight coming from the window.

"You have five minutes to get out." Was all she said, and Loki laughed. He wasn´t expecting anything less.

Bruce stared, amazed, at his hands. They were normal colored and sized, maybe even a bit bruised. Last thing he remembered was raging up into what he knew was the worst hulking out since he´d joined the Avengers, and what made it terrifying was that he had been completely out of control, for the first time in years. He hadn´t managed to calm down until… He looked up to find Loki smirking at him.

"It was easy, actually. A matter of tricking your body into thinking there was no threat in sight. I should have thought it sooner." The sorcerer explained. "But don't thank me right now. I have yet to see which one of you I like the most."

Bruce couldn't help it. He pulled the god ´s arm, and crushed him into a hug, laughing. The god had just involuntarily saved thousands of people. Loki rolled his eyes.

"I should have known…" And he pulled himself free, to stare directly at Bruce. "I like to be thanked a bit differently." He added, his hand tracing a very obvious track down Bruce´s chest and stomach. Bruce, still laughing, shook his head and leaned in to kiss his chin. What did he care? The god had earned it. Loki smirked again and pushed him against the wall.

"Hulk out for me, Banner."

"That was fun."

"Most fun I´ve had since the other guy came around."

"I must admit, you are a very considerate lover."

"It was just a thank you."

"Well, thank you."

"Loki?"

"Ah, shut up." He pushed the blond hard, mixing in a bit of magic to make him topple to the floor.

"But what…"

"Do I really look like I came here to chat, Thor?" And really, after that the bigger Norse had no time to keep asking.

"I… Demand an explanation."

"That comes to confirm you´re a bit dumber than I thought."

"Brother…"

"I´ll just go now." He knew he shouldn´t take such delight in Thor´s confusion, but it was just too perfect.

"I´m not comfortable with this, Loki…" Steve was shut up by a lean finger pressed lightly to his lips.

"And why is that, dear captain?" A naughty spark shone in the trickster´s eyes. Steve sighed.

"I couldn´t even begin to list the reasons."

"I´m sorry then Rogers dearest." He thumbed the blond´s cheekbone. "Imagine this is just a game… How would you do it?"

Steve sighed again, before closing his eyes and blushing. He took Loki´s hand in his and kissed it. The god smiled, and resolved to take pity on him.

"Look at me."

Restraining a wince, Steve did and his eyes widened on their own, when they caught sight of the raven haired beauty in front of him. Curvy and voluptuous, she reminded him of his time´s pinup girls.

He could still see Loki in her face, but…

"This certainly makes it a bit easier."

"You´re as simple as any other, Rogers."

"It´ll have to do, I guess." Loki sighed, and Steve blushed furiously.

"You… I did everything!"

"Of course you did… If I had wanted it all according to the manual, it would have been gorgeous." He shrugged. "Sorry, Rogers, I want someone who writes their own rules."

"Aren´t you even going to ask why I´m here?" Loki stretched on the expensive couch, shamelessly naked, and watched Tony as he assessed him.

"Doesn´t take much to figure it out." He smirked.

"Finally, someone with a brain." And he made room in the couch, when the billionaire walked in towards him.

"I could live like this." Tony crossed his arms behind head, and closed his eyes.

"Cut on the mortal whores and it´s a deal." Loki pulled the sheets over himself, enjoying the softness off the mattress. "Do you even have something to talk about afterwards?"

Tony grinned. "That´s why I don´t keep them." And he caressed the soft black hair spread over the pillow. "Why did it take you so long?"

"Try and error."

"You´ll have to give me the details."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Belonging

I wish I could say I know how this happened, but I can´t. Sorry, dears.

* * *

**Ship:** Thor/Natasha

**Warnings: **Implied character death

* * *

When he looked at her, he couldn´t help but to feel uneasy.

She was a warrior. A brother in arms, like Sif had once been. She was dangerous, and confident in her strength, yet she never underestimated an enemy. She was lethal.

She was a woman. Beautiful, serene and mysterious, like the maidens he so liked to watch on the royal balls. Not pure and shy. She waved her femininity like a weapon, dangerous in her hands like a knife or a gun. Those who thought themselves her masters often ended dead. When she was feeling especially merciful.

She was a liar. She threaded words into sticky nets as he´d only seen his brother do. Even her eyes were the same. Green, deep, cunning. All the time twinkling like she knew something everyone ignored, like she knew herself to be one step ahead. She usually was.

When he looked at her, his blood boiled, and his fingers itched, for she was someone he both respected and feared at once. Someone he couldn´t have for too many reasons to count.

* * *

She barely ever looked at people anymore. However, she was bound to look at her new teammates every once in a while, now that she spent most of her in-between mission time at the tower. And however… He was impossible to ignore.

He was the embodiment of what she hated; big, brawny men that valued themselves too much. That thought life itself was a competition they could win by means of screaming loud and punching hard. The son of a monarchy, used to having everything served to him on a silver tray just by flashing his status around.

He was also loud and clumsy, tripping over everything around the living levels of the tower, and messing with Stark´s delicate technology. It was frankly surprising that he could be so agile and trustworthy in battle.

He was sensitive and naive, and every day spent at his side was a constant reminder that some men were just so undeniably good at heart that they were painful to watch. No matter what he was tempted with, he stood firm. He took pride on his power but, unlike his brother, he never let himself be corrupted. He´d fallen once (or so she´d heard). He was too wise to do so again.

She barely ever bothered with trying to understand people anymore. They were too fleeting in her life anyways. Those that stayed, those that mattered were few, and she held them close like a child with her favorite toys. He didn´t matter. He couldn´t matter. He might not be fleeting in her life, but she would be fooling herself if she dared thinking she wasn´t fleeting in his. And for that she hated him. No one made her feel worthless anymore.

* * *

It happened on the aftermath of a battle, for amongst rubble and bodies were where they both had their hunting grounds.

He spared a look around, still battle-high. Her hair has caked in slime, and her lip was split. Her eyes found him, and he felt just like he did whenever Mjôlnir was hit by lightning. He took a step forward slowly, as if testing the ground, and she did the same.

With another questioning look, all doubts were pushed aside, and they met like waves hitting against the rocks. He lifted her -so small and delicate- and she sank her nails in his back as they tasted her blood.

Maybe his friend Clint was watching from his position. Maybe his lady Jane thought of him in her mobile residence. He didn´t know. He didn´t care.

At that moment, they were the only beings in existence.

* * *

He found her again that very night, her eyes were glowing emeralds under the moonlight that lit the common room, and he had no doubt that she´d been waiting for him.

"This is wrong."

"It might be." She answered. But she was already walking up to him. "Who has the right to judge?"

"Those we´ve given it to." He felt the fire under his skin, the need to hold her and test just how _strong_ she was.

"I belong to no one. And so do you." She said. She had fought for her right to hold her fate in her own hands. He had been born wild and fierce, even for his people´s standards. They might tie themselves to those they loved, but they were their own.

"You will not belong to me."

"I won´t." And she wouldn´t. She would fight at his side and watch over him as she did already. As if he needed it, and let him do the same for her. But she wouldn´t be his. "And I don´t want you to be mine."

He nodded, and offered his hand. She took it, and they walked back to his chambers.

That night he had her until he quenched his thirst for her. He held her tight in his arms and let her mark his skin as he marked hers. He fell between the sheets with her, and made the effort to stay awake a minute longer, for he wished to see her at rest.

But if she slept, she did so after he himself succumbed, and when the morning came, she was gone. Only her scent clung to the fabric, and her words lingered in his mind.

* * *

She watched from afar.

His romance with that scientist of his died and broke just as she predicted, for he was thunder and he couldn´t be tamed.

She didn´t visit his room every night. That would´ve given him the wrong idea. She didn´t treat him differently during the day, or let him do so, either. That would´ve given the others the wrong idea. Maybe even herself.

* * *

He opened the door to the infirmary as silently as he could.

She waited awake, just as he knew she´d do. He walked up to the side of her bed, and watched her without a word. He lamented her fragility, but he knew she´d hate to hear it, so he saved it for himself.

He turned to leave, and he barely felt the slight pull at the hem of his shirt.

He stayed.

* * *

Sometimes he had to leave. She knew that, and she accepted it. Sometimes she left for months at a time, too.

What made her uneasy was the way he came back, looking at everyone like he could _see_ how they had aged while he remained the same. Like he knew his time between them was short and precious.

Once he was away for nearly a year, and when he returned, her hair was already reaching her back. He held the red strands between his fingers like they were a testimony of his time away, but said nothing. For how loud he usually was, he was always unnervingly silent right after coming back.

She cut her hair the next day.

* * *

In her line of work, she faced death on a daily basis. It didn´t scare her, it never had. This time was not different. In fact, it wasn´t even as close as she was used to.

But she made the mistake of looking at him right after.

She would´ve felt better if she´d seen fear in his eyes. She was used to that. Being the only woman in the team, she was often targeted first -lousy but common mistake-, and she often saw that fear and relief in her teammates´ eyes after she made it out alive every time.

But he wasn´t fearful for her.

He stood there, watching, and she couldn´t help but to think of a bear cub whose mother is being taken away.

That night she visited his room, and he was as desperate for her touch as a man would be for water after crossing a desert.

* * *

He enjoyed that game of theirs.

How they both pulled at each other´s restraints, and then went back into waiting arms. She didn´t belong to him, and she didn´t want him to be hers.

They had each other whenever they felt the need, and their lives went on as usual.

It happened often that he came face to face with her mortality, just like he did with the rest of the team. She was reckless and brave, and teased death on every battle. It was a lovely habit of hers.

It happened after one of those times. That she looked into his eyes right after the danger had passed.

He received her in his chambers, and held her.

She let him take as if he was the one in need, and he was sure she thought of him as such, because she was so blind and so stubborn.

He had another game with himself. Every night they spent together, he tried to stay awake for longer than her. To lull her to sleep with tales of his world and strokes through her back. He always lost.

But that morning, she gave him a little victory, and he woke up to the sight of her still sleeping face. She woke up soon after, but didn´t leave.

* * *

When he remembers their time together, it´s mostly a blur.

Blood and passion, like her.

He still resides in Midgard for long periods. He helps the Captain train the new recruits.

Once a year, he takes the day off, wherever he might be. There´s no grave to visit and he spends the day in his chambers, that have not changed since he walked in for the first time. He remembers her hair sprawled on the pillow, and her eyes opening slowly under the sun´s first rays.

* * *

In his chambers in Asgard, he keeps a small trunk with memories of his team. Tickets for a movie Clint insisted on watching, a couple of photographs, and even a video that Jarvis recorded on the day they had declared to be his birthday and insisted on celebrating. Hearing their voices always brings tears to his eyes.

He has another trunk, hidden deeper between his things.

There he keeps one of his old vambraces, engraved with a horned motif. Not because his brother is lost, but because he was at some point, and he can´t let himself forget.

He keeps his mother´s ring, the drawing he made once on Jane´s notebook, and a folded silken handkerchief.

Sometimes he unfolds the fabric, and runs a finger over the long red lock.

He remembers the night he stole it. The night she found out, and the way her lips thinned for a second before relaxing again. He smiles when he remembers that the morning after he thought the hair at his nape looked a little uneven.

Then he folds the silk again, and holds it close to his heart for a moment, before he puts it back to rest in its place.

And as he walks out and meets with his friends outside, he can´t help but to let a smile creep upon his features. It´s not comforting. It doesn´t help. But it somehow changes everything.

Maybe in the end they did belong.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Better late than never

Hello, dears!

Just a quick one-shot I thought of today!

I wrote it as Gen, but I guess it can be shippy if you squint a bit?

I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters used here belong to me.

* * *

**5 times Steve watched from afar, and 1 time he dared going in**

**1**

It takes him a lot, and he doesn´t really plan it, but, as fate would have it, he finds himself one day at sunset, sitting on a park bench across the street.

The house is charmingly small, enough for a single person, or a simple couple. He hopes it´s the first one, and then mentally slaps himself for being so selfish.

It just feels too unreal.

Suddenly, a shadow looms over him, and engulfs his own on the pavement. He sighs before turning, hoping it won´t be a group of anxious fans. Usually, he loves them. Now, not in the mood.

But as he finishes his turn and finds himself staring right into a crotch, he blinks a couple of times, confused, before redirecting his eyes upward, where a bearded, smiling face greets him.

"Friend Steve. Is there any reason you sought loneliness today?" Thor asks in his booming voice. Steve smiles back.

"Not really."

"May I sit with you for a while, then?"

For all answer, Steve slides on the bench until there´s enough space at his side for Thor to sit. The other takesthe offered seat, and proceeds to lean comfortably against the backrest, before sweeping the street with a curious glance.

Yet he asks nothing, and Steve applauds him for it.

They stay in silence for a while. A gang of children kick a soccer ball down the street, and a couple of girls playing pirates with sticks as swords makes them both smile. As they disappear in the distance, Steve takes a deep breath, in preparation to speak.

"Have you ever loved, Thor?"

He knows it´s an insensitive question before he asks. He knows about Jane. He knows about many other things. Still, the way Thor´s contented smile vanishes makes him feel a bit guilty.

"I have. Many times, in fact." He answers.

"Any advice for us inexperienced kids?" Steve asks again with a broader hint of a smile that Thor doesn´t return.

"I can´t speak for everyone, friend." He starts. "But I can tell from my experiences that love cheats on happiness with loss more often than not."

Steve nods solemnly. "Tell me about it..."

"... I believe I just did?" When he looks, Thor´s staring at him with a confused expression so pitiful it actually manages to make him laugh.

"Don´t listen to me. It´s just a phrase." He clarifies once his laughter has passed. Thor is still staring, though.

"Is that so, then? Are you dubious about your loved one?"

Steve sobers up. Thor doesn´t know. He just wants to help.

"Truth is, buddy, I don´t even know." He leans with his elbows on his knees and rests his chin on his propped up hands.

Thor pats his shoulder, and they resume their silent observation until the sun hides completely and the streetlights blink on.

Then the god climbs to his feet, takes a couple of steps and stops. And the mortal follows him home.

* * *

**2**

This time the shadow that falls over his shoulder doesn´t engulf his own as much as stands quietly next to it.

"Boring day at the lab?" He mutters in lieu of a proper greeting.

"Pepper said I had to get `fresh air´ or something." Tony takes a seat at his side without even asking. He knows it´s all right. "Big boy told me you´d be here."

"Did he say anything else?" He knows he didn´t, it´s just mere protocol.

"That you had a nice time together. Although I must say I´m not really seeing why." Tony stretches and grins mockingly.

"I don´t expect you to enjoy the simpler things in-"

"Look." Tony interrupts him. His voice, unlike other times, is not imposing, sarcastic, or hurried. Just calmed. Like everything else. "That kid´s playing with us."

Steve follows his pointed hand and true enough, there´s a young boy, not older than five, staging a battle between his Captain America and Iron Man figures.

He laughs.

"What?" His friend asks, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

"Nothing, just... I can still remember when I played with my toy soldiers and..."

"Now you´re a toy soldier?"

Steve nods, and it´s Tony who laughs a little this time.

"Life is pretty fucked up." He declares. "I can still remember when **I **played with my own Captain America figure." He looks away as he admits the last part, and Steve lets it pass this time, because he knows it´s a bit of a punch to his ego.

"It´s just another of the weird things I´ve encountered in this time." Steve says, and he looks at his friend. His friend that would´ve been no more than a fantasy in his day. A man with a heart of metal and light, that goes around flying in a robot suit. The shy kid from Brooklyn squirms giddily in his mind. He´s heard the story of the Arc Reactor. Of that fatidic trip to Afghanistan. "I´m glad I´m here." He says, when what he really means is `I´m glad **you´re**here´.

"Me too, I guess?" Tony arches an eyebrow, smiling and feeling like he got lost at some point, but he complies anyway. "Why don´t you go in, Steve?" He asks a second later, carefully, as if he fears a hostile response.

Instead, Steve frowns and shakes his head.

This time it´s him who stands up and leads the way back. Today is just too good to spend it thinking about yesterday.

* * *

**3**

The third time he realizes this is actually becoming a trend.

Bruce stands quietly at his side even when he offers him a side of the bench. Steve has noticed, his quiet, evaluating glances when he thinks he´s not looking. He knows he hasn´t been the same lately. And he´s come.

"She lives here?" He asks.

"She does." He answers.

And then there´s silence because ironically, taking the Other Guy into account, Bruce has a calming effect on those who surround him. Steve thinks he´d gladly accept him as a recurrent visitor of his newfound refuge.

"I don´t think I´m ever going to dare."

"I´m sure you will." At last, Bruce sits. "I never thought I´d be back into a lab, and look at me now."

Steve smiles.

"That´s what Tony and I discussed the other day. Life is pretty weird sometimes."

"It is." Bruce agrees. "Not that that´s ever stopped you, though."

They fall into an easy silence again, and Steve swallows the lump in his throat.

"What about you?"

Bruce ponders his question in silence for quite a while, and at last, he looks back at Steve.

"What do you think?" He asks with a little smile, because he knows he´s not playing fair. Tony´s a bad influence on him, Steve thinks, as he looks for a way to answer.

"You´re like the hare." He finally says, and explains himself quickly after. "You know, the Tortoise and the Hare?"

Bruce considers it. How his life is a succession of flashing, lightning-fast incidents and long breathers in between. Truth is, he´s like the hare in another way. He got too confident, and lost. But Steve doesn´t know it. Still, he nods.

"Then you´re the tortoise."

Steve smiles sadly, looking down. "Too slow."

"But steady enough." He looks across the street, and sees the movement behind the curtains. "Let´s go. Today´s obviously not the day." He mutters, hoping to sound convincing.

The other man looks up quizzically at him, but stands up anyways. They walk back to the tower. For once, Steve is not too slow, and Bruce doesn´t feel as if he´s missing something. They´re both at peace.

* * *

**4**

"All the cool kids are hanging out with you, so I thought I´d give it a try."

Steve can´t help but to laugh at Clint´s sudden appearance and typical bluntness. The newcomer smirks, and sits at his side, sprawling shamelessly over all the leftover space.

"How´s it going, Clint?" He asks.

Clint shrugs. "It´s going. That´s what matters, isn´t it?"

"I guess so."

Fifteen minutes later, Steve knows two things:

One, he loves his teammate deeply and blindly.

Two, he´s never, **ever** letting him join him here again.

As he slaps Clint´s poking finger from his forehead for the twentieth time, while simultaneously pushing him towards his own side of the bench, he notices the other´s smile takes a softer hue for a couple of seconds before he attacks again, and he gets it.

It looks like everyone in the tower is really worried about him.

So he does the only reasonable thing, and pushes his friend off the bench. He´s running away even before Clint lands flat on his ass against the ground.

The first pebble hits an inch away from his right foot, and well, that´s another reminder that Clint´s only playing fool to cheer him up.

However, the next one hits against his ass like a computer-controlled missile, and he remembers that he_ did_ just push a trained assassin to the ground.

* * *

**5**

Coulson doesn´t speak much. Steve guesses Clint let him know, because they haven´t seen each other a lot lately.

Still, Steve appreciates it when the man loosens his tie and passes him one of the paper cups he´s brought. He knows it´s from one of those new fancy coffeeshops, but it somehow tastes simpler. Like home. He knows Coulson made sure it did, and silently thanks him for it.

A group of aged ladies knock on the door and are let in, and Steve snorts on his coffee because _she´s a bridge lady now_. He´s never letting her live that down. If he ever dares to do it, that is.

Coulson smiles sideways at him, and rises to leave.

Steve pulls at his sleeve, and finishes the coffee in a couple of hurried, burning gulps, before following him.

"Let´s go grab a hot dog or something." He proposes.

He doesn´t say a word in the way to the hot dog stand, or back to the tower. He doesn´t need it. His friends get him, and that´s all that matters.

* * *

**+1**

When he arrives, the bench is already occupied, and he smiles. He should´ve known.

Natasha stares up at him until he sits.

"I wondered if you´d come."

"So did I. Turns out you´re just too good for everyone´s good." She admits.

"Thank you?" Steve chuckles, and then stills, because she pins him under the piercing strength of her green eyes, and he feels the mood changing.

"Is she beautiful?"

"She´s the most beautiful woman I´ve ever met. No offense." He adds quickly, and he enjoys the rare sight of her sharp lips curving into a smile.

"None taken. It´s a biased opinion."

"You remind me of her, though. You are beautiful like her."

"Thank you."

"You´re welcome."

She watches the door across the street with laser-like intensity, not even looking at him when she speaks next.

"I´ve got nothing to do today."

Steve frowns in confusion, not knowing if this was a cue for him to invite her to dinner or something.

"I..."

"I brought a new book." She shows it to him, but she takes it back so fast he knows he´s not really meant to be interested on it.

"... Nice?" He still doesn´t get it.

"I could wait here for you." And then he does.

"... That would be nice."

She doesn´t answer, and he understands that as his cue to stand up and walk across the street.

When he walks out again, many hours later, he´s got tear trails and lipstick smears over his cheeks, a belly full of tea, a fresh bruise under his sleeve (No jokes about the bridge party, then.), a smile across his face, and a piercing pain in his chest.

And she´s there, sitting still as a statue under a streetlight, holding her book in her lap.

She pretends she doesn´t see him as he rubs his face clean, and then lets him help her to her feet.

He can´t help himself. He pulls her into a hug, and for a second he feels like a child again. She stiffens a little t first, but a second later she embraces him back, and holds still until he comes back to himself.

They walk back in silence, and he knows he´s left a weight behind when his heart lightens up at the sight of the tower, because even when everyone else´s moved on, he´s not alone.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
